The Making of a Man
by Appletree5
Summary: Arthur and Merlin stumble into Cenred's hands.  With no help forthcoming from Camelot they must save themselves if they can but with Merlin unable to openly use his magic and Arthur hurt and not thinking straight, this could prove problematic.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Merlin or Arthur, their property, their friends or their enemies. If you recognise something, it's probably not mine.  
><strong>AN:** This is my first foray into Merlin's world but I'm not a stranger to ffnet (under a different name). I will be updating this story periodically but life is busy so please bear with me.

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><p>It hadn't, Merlin muses, been a fair fight. Even with his magic there could have been no other outcome. Somehow, Cenred had clearly known they were coming. Someone, or something, had warned him. Or maybe, Merlin thinks, maybe he and Arthur had been tricked into this journey, this ridiculous attempt to reclaim what Uther claims has always belonged to Camelot.<p>

Merlin wonders if Uther would think it so important now if he could see them. He wonders if Uther's stubbornness would conquer his feelings for his only son. The heir to the throne. Camelot's future king.

The future king who is currently on his knees before Cenred, head bowed, hands chained behind his back, armour hanging heavily on defeated shoulders, blood crusted in his hair. Merlin wants to laugh at the irony of the shackles on his master's wrists when his own limbs are dangling loosely at his side. He could destroy them all with one flick of his eyes, one well placed word, one thought.

But he won't. Not yet. Because this is not Arthur's destiny. Arthur _will _be King but he's not ready yet.

So Merlin rests on his knees, watching as Cenred advances on the pair of them, cruelty and suppressed violence oozing from every pore.

The King stops mere inches away from Arthur and laughs, reaching out a hand calloused by many battles. He grasps Arthurs hair and pulls hard. The prince's head is brought up and for the first time Merlin gets a good look at Arthur's face. He takes in the bruises on his cheekbones, the scratches and scrapes that pepper his forehead, nose and chin and the gash, the result of the blow that finally did for Arthur, that runs from his left eyebrow to disappear beyond his hairline.

But these wounds, Merlin realises, are superficial. He could mend them with barely a thought. No, what worries Merlin, what causes his heart to skip a beat, is the look in Arthur's eyes. Despair, pain and loss mix together with resignation. Merlin can see that Arthur has lost his fighting spirit and that frightens him more than anything.

Cenred laughs, a cold hollow sound that chills Merlin to the bone, as he tightens his grasp on the prince's hair.

"What did you hope to achieve, boy?" he hisses before turning to his knights, his band of loyal followers. "This child thinks to outwit me," he announces, shaking Arthur's head like a rag doll. "We cannot allow such an insult from Camelot. We ride out at dawn."

The assembly bows to their King as he smiles grimly and dismisses them with a curt nod. Merlin watches them file out, a formidable enemy. The relative stillness of the hall is oppressive now and with a start he realises Cenred still has hold of Arthur.

He takes stock of their situation again. Cenred's not stupid. He still has guards at the doors and surrounding Arthur and himself. Merlin wonders if it's time to put an end to this but he knows by doing so he would be condemning himself. He can't do that. Not yet. Not when Arthur still needs him.

He also realises that Arthur is yet to say a single word. Other than his battle cries in the midst of combat, the young prince has remained speechless. This is so uncharacteristic Merlin wonders briefly if he isn't the only sorcerer in town. But he dismisses the thought as it appears the same notion has struck Cenred.

"Cat got your tongue?" he enquires of his captive.

Arthur doesn't reply, but Merlin sees the hint of a spark return as the prince fixes his stare on the King.

"Maybe not the cat," Cenred ponders. "Maybe something else?" He turns his attention to Merlin. "Is your master dumbstruck by my presence?"

Merlin shakes his head. "I doubt it," he mutters under his breath then realises he wasn't as quiet as he meant to be.

But Cenred clearly doesn't consider Merlin to be a threat and laughs, a deep throaty sound that echoes round the Great Hall. He looks back to Arthur and finally relinquishes his hold on the prince.

Merlin watches as Arthur's head drops, chin resting against his chest. He wonders what the King has planned as he watches him stalk around Arthur. Merlin wonders what Arthur has planned because, in his experience, Arthur never submits to anyone.

Cenred stops circling his prey and drops down till he's eye level with Arthur. He licks his lips pensively and tilts his head to one side.

"You intrigue me, Pendragon," he confesses at length. "Most men would have yielded to me by now. But you…" and he trails off, apparently lost in thought, which bothers Merlin for some reason. He can't quite put his finger on it but Cenred's interest in Arthur seems to have gone beyond the obvious. The look he's giving the Prince of Camelot has no place being there.

"Take them away," the King suddenly decrees, rising smartly to his feet. "Make sure our guests are well looked after," and then he's gone leaving Merlin and Arthur at the mercy of his guards.

The dungeons in Escetia are as squalid as any Merlin has ever encountered. Although, he muses silently, he's not seen a great many in his life. He sits on a sparse pile of straw that's seen better days, trying to ignore the dampness seeping through his clothes.

Arthur has spent the last hour slumped in the corner furthest from the cell door, face turned away so Merlin can't see his features. Merlin's not too worried – yet. There had been a brief conversation when they had first been flung unceremoniously to the floor of the cell. Arthur had cursed the guards, cursed Cenred, cursed the ill wind that had brought them here and then, when the guards had laughed and moved out of earshot, he had cursed his father, cursed Merlin and, finally, cursed himself.

Merlin knows Arthur's moods well enough not to take offence or to be worried by them. He looks across at the Prince now and is relieved to see the bowed head and slumped shoulders are the result of a bone-deep weariness now. The earlier despair has been exorcised. Probably, Merlin thinks, expelled on one or other of Arthur's colourful tirades.

He shuffles forwards, watching his prince the whole time, gauging his reaction to Merlin's approach. When he shows no acknowledgement of his manservant's approach, Merlin reaches out a tentative hand but halts before making physical contact, unsure of what to do next.

Arthur lets out a gentle snort and raises his head, eyes making contact with Merlin and the warlock feels a shiver bolt down his spine. Arthur's face – once so blank and unreadable – is suddenly an open book. He means to fight his way out of this even though he knows it means certain death. In any other situation Merlin would be cheered to see this look but here and now he thinks it can only lead to trouble.

"What's the matter, Merlin?"Arthur asks. "You look as if you've got a mouth full of sour milk."

It's a typical Arthur comment but Merlin is left cold by it. There's none of the usual gentle humour about it, no warmth or evidence of familiarity. Merlin wonders what sort of response he's expected to give – if any.

Arthur grunts and turns away.

"What are you thinking?" he ventures, not missing the tightening of the prince's shoulders. "Because whatever it is," he continues, "it's a bad idea."

"And you know that how?" Arthur retorts. "It must be all those years of strategy and combat training you've had. Oh, wait," he slaps his forehead in a false and exaggerated gesture, "that's me!"

Merlin sighs. This isn't going to be easy.

"Tell me about your plan then," Merlin prompts. "You do have a plan, don't you?" He's fairly sure Arthur doesn't and he hopes he can make the other man see sense before he does something reckless.

"What do you think, Merlin?" Arthur retorts.

Any other time Merlin would have a hundred flippant replies at his fingertips but one look at Arthur and Merlin knows, just knows, this isn't the time for them. This is the time for blunt truthfulness. Arthur might make him pay for his words one day but as long as there is a 'one day', he can live with that.

"I don't think you do," the warlock confesses. "I think you're tired, hungry and hurt. I think you're a little bit scared and you're not used to having to save yourself."

"Merlin…" Arthur growls, but Merlin is in mid flow now and words alone aren't going to stop him.

"All your strategy and combat training aren't going to help us now. You're not thinking straight and you're going to do something stupid and get us both killed." Merlin pauses for breath, vaguely noting how Arthur looks slightly shell shocked. "Go on then," he mutters. "Tell me I'm wrong. Tell me your grand escape plan."

"It's simple," Arthur replies. "I'm a knight, you're my manservant, sworn to serve me until one of us is dead. We're going to fight our way out of this."

Merlin feels a bubble of something rising up in his gut. For one terrifying moment he thinks he's lost control of his magic. He thinks any second now Arthur will find himself transformed into the ass he quite clearly is.

Then a laugh escapes his lips and he's not sure who is more shocked by it – the prince or the warlock. His hand flies to his mouth to prevent any further betrayal but it doesn't do any good. He's powerless to stop the laughter. Even the darkening of Arthur's visage isn't enough to stop him.

"I'm glad you find this so amusing," Arthur comments dryly as he pushes himself upright, using the wall for support.

Merlin makes a supreme effort to control himself, concluding that he's simply teetering on the edge of hysteria. The sight of Arthur propped against the harsh rock of the cell wall helps to sober him up.

"Do you honestly think that's going to work?" he asks quietly, all mirth gone.

Arthur sighs, eyes darting around their cell. "Of course it will, Merlin," he replies, but Merlin can see beyond the bravado, can see the cracks in the façade. He's so busy studying his master that he almost misses the whispered, "It has to."


	2. Chapter 2

Merlin opens his eyes slowly, wondering when he had fallen asleep. The lighted torches beyond the bars to the cell are no indication of time but by the way the guards are slumped carelessly against the walls he guesses it must be night time. He stretches carefully, joints protesting at the hours of inactivity he has subjected them to. Glancing around the cell he spies Arthur curled in on himself, looking ridiculously young and innocent in sleep.

Merlin toys with the idea of healing Arthur's wounds but knows it's never going to happen. Not without giving himself away and now's not the time for that. Arthur doesn't seem to be in any pain or discomfort and the risk of discovery outweighs the satisfaction it would give the warlock. Instead, he turns his attention to the guards. He wonders if he could somehow use his magic against them. He runs through the catalogue of spells and powers at his disposal in head and thinks he might have found the perfect solution when there's a commotion beyond the cell walls.

The guards, once so slovenly, are all attention and efficiency, springing away from the walls as though burned. Merlin watches them apprehensively, wondering what could possibly have brought on this speedy change in posture and character.

He doesn't have to wait long for his answer. Through the corridors the heavy fall of footsteps echoes ominously. Merlin counts three, maybe four, separate walkers, all men, all large if the sounds are anything to go by. He glances across to where Arthur is stirring, disturbed by the noise.

Merlin has seen Arthur cross the bridge from sleep to wakefulness countless times and it never ceases to amaze him how the knight always seems to know the best way to do it. In his chambers on a quiet day it can take Merlin up to an hour of coaxing, cajoling, bribing and finally threatening to get his master out of a warm bed. In the forest on a hunting trip Arthur can be awake and on his feet in a heartbeat if he thinks there's danger nearby.

Right now, Merlin knows Arthur is awake but he doubts anyone else has any idea. There's a slight stiffening of shoulders, a minute stilling of his head and over the tumult from outside the cell, Merlin can hear the shift of Arthur's breathing. The warlock allows himself a satisfied smile where no one can see it. Arthur is nobody's fool. He means to eavesdrop on whatever fortune brings to their cell.

Merlin turns back to face the bars keeping them from their liberty and nods slightly to himself as Cenred turns appears, flanked on either side by what Merlin presumes are his personal guards. He watches as the king approaches them, self confidence and arrogance oozing from his pores.

Cenred halts just inches from the bars and looks down at where Merlin is sitting. Merlin has to stop himself from shivering under the scrutiny of the older man. He forces himself to meet his eye, knowing he's overstepping the mark as a servant but not caring. Cenred isn't his King. He owes the man nothing.

Cenred doesn't seem bothered by this show of stubbornness. In fact he seems amused by it and turns to share a whispered joke with one of his personal guards. They both laugh a little and then he waves a hand towards Arthur.

"Still sleeping?" he asks, pointlessly.

Merlin can't tell if he's seen through Arthur's pretence or not so he just shrugs his shoulders. "It's been a long day," he replies casually. Out of the corner of his eye he catches Arthur's shoulders quiver, just a little. It could be a stifled laugh, it could be the cold. Merlin neither knows nor cares.

Apparently, neither does Cenred. "Wake him up," he orders his men.

The guards are careless with the keys and the noise alone would wake the dead, let alone a prince pretending to slumber on. Arthur turns onto his back and glares at the guards now standing above him.

"Enjoying the view?" he asks caustically, even as rough hands grab his arms and haul him to his feet. Merlin is up and at his side so quickly he wonders if he accidentally used a little magic.

But it seems no one has noticed the speed of his movements. In fact, it appears that no one has noticed anything about him. Nobody seems in the slightest bit interested in him. All the attention is focussed purely on Arthur and Merlin doesn't like it.

Cenred is still poised outside the cell, fingers playing with the hilt of his sword. As Arthur is brought towards him, he smiles and looks the prince over curiously.

"Why hasn't Uther come running yet?" he ponders, planting himself directly in front of Arthur, invading what little personal space the prince has left.

His question surprises Merlin. Uther may not be openly demonstrative with his affection for his son but when the doors are closed the King's feelings are hard to deny. It's all part of being a servant, Merlin supposes. He blends into the background, all but forgotten by his superiors. He could tell the court a thousand secrets about Arthur and Uther.

Uther not coming for Arthur can only mean one of two things. Either he hasn't got the message yet, or he knows it's a trap. Merlin hopes it's the former because, despite appearances, Arthur gets his hotheadedness from somewhere. Maybe Uther's knights are holding him back, urging him to think things through, to come up with a strategy before ordering his army into Escetia, hell bent on revenge.

If the question surprises Arthur, he doesn't show it. He merely tilts his head to one side and looks Cenred up and down with disdain.

"Missing him, are you?" he sneers. "Feeling neglected? I must remind him to send flowers."

For a moment Merlin wonders if Cenred is going to hit Arthur. He watches the king's jaw muscles tighten, eyes the clenched fist. But the moment is gone so smoothly Merlin begins to doubt the intent was ever there in the first place. Instead the older man takes another step forward, forcing Arthur to take an involuntary step back. Merlin sees the guards reinforcing their grip on the Prince's arms, halting any further retreat.

"I'll be the one sending flowers," Cenred hisses. "To your father's funeral. Not that you'll be there to see them." He stops and shakes his head thoughtfully. "Maybe," he murmurs, lifting a hand to brush away an imaginary stray hair from Arthur's forehead, "maybe your father needs a little encouragement."

Merlin watches Arthur flinch – whether from the veiled threat or the unwelcome touch, he can't tell. But he recognises the steel behind Arthur's gaze and he's glad to see it.

"My father's not stupid," Arthur spits. "He won't just walk into your arms. He'll bring an army. An army of thousands. An army you can't possibly defeat. Do you think Camelot will just roll over and accept this insult? Just how weak and pathetic do you think we are?"

Cenred laughs. "An army of thousands? And where will Uther find these thousands?"

"They'll come," Arthur replies, conviction oozing through every word.

"I think you're in for a big disappointment," Cenred shakes his head. "Who are these people who feel so strongly for Uther that they will come and risk life and limb for him, to come and help him rescue his family when he has destroyed so many? Uther is not as well loved by his people as you think."

Merlin watches as Arthur's face turns a shade paler. "They will come," he reiterates, but Merlin can hear the beginning of doubt edging into his voice. He doesn't think Cenred has picked up on it yet and he thinks that's a good thing.

Cenred simply raises his eyebrows and mutters, "We'll see, boy. We'll see." He steps away from Arthur and looks the prince up and down in a way that makes Merlin feel uncomfortable. He watches the way Cenred's eyes linger a little too long on Arthur's hands, currently clenched into fists, the light from the torches glinting off his ring.

The king suddenly lunges forward and grabs hold of Arthur's wrist, yanking his arm forward, pulling the younger man off balance. If the guards weren't still holding him, Merlin muses, he'd probably be in Cenred's arms right now. As it is, Arthur stumbles and falls to his knees before the king. Merlin winces as the older man prises the fingers on Arthur's hand apart and wrenches off the ring.

"Maybe this will help your father focus," he grins, tossing the ring carelessly in the air.


	3. Chapter 3

There's something wrong with Arthur's hand, Merlin muses. Not injured wrong, but wrong nevertheless. The absence of his ring bothers the warlock more than he'd have thought. It's just a piece of jewellery, Merlin doesn't even know what it's make from or where it came from. But without it the Prince is somehow incomplete. Like Cenred took a part of Arthur with it. In his head, Merlin knows this is nonsense but in his heart he feels an uneasy apprehension.

He shakes his head – an effort to send this sense of foreboding to the winds. "So," he says, breaking the silence that has hung over the two prisoners since Cenred took his leave. "Will your father come?"

Arthur snorts. "Of course not," is the brusque reply. "Oh, he might send a few of his knights. Give Cenred what he wants – a bit of a fight, a bit of resistance but he won't send anyone he values. Which means he won't send anyone who's any good."

Merlin's surprised by the bitterness in Arthur's words. He thinks it would be best to keep his opinion to himself but he can't do it.

"That's not true, Arthur," he blurts out.

"Isn't it?" Arthur raises his eyebrows.

"Of course not! Okay, so Uther may not come himself but he'll send an army. You said so yourself. To Cenred."

"Of course I did, Merlin. How stupid are you? You never _ever_ tell your enemies the truth. Right now he believes Camelot is preparing to bring the wrath of an entire kingdom down upon him. What do you think he's doing at this very moment?" Arthur pauses, takes a breath and glares at Merlin, who simply shrugs. "I can tell you what he's _not_ doing," Arthur continues. "He's not sleeping. He's not eating. He's not even resting. He's preparing for a war that's never going to happen." Arthur leans forward and wags a conspiratorial finger at his cell mate. "And that, Merlin, is why you and I have the advantage. We have food, we have water and we will sleep for the rest of the night. And then tomorrow, we'll go home."

Arthur gives Merlin a cocky smile and lies back, hands tucked behind his head. If Merlin didn't know him better he would think the knight was already asleep. He knows there'll be no getting sense into Arthur's head for the rest of the night although he is curious as to what plan his companion thinks he's come up with. He thinks, with a sinking feeling, that he may have to resort to magic after all. Especially if Arthur is going to launch himself, single handed, at Cenred and his army.

He lies awake for the rest of the night. He watches Arthur slumbering, watches the way the Prince's chest rises and falls gently with each breath, watches the worry lines and creases fade from his master's forehead, watches as a smile turns up the corners of his mouth and wonders what dreams are easing Arthur through the darkness.

He must have nodded off at some point, he realises as the sunlight irritates his eyelids, turning his world to a gentle pink. He rubs his eyes and stretches out his long legs with a soft moan. Then he decides it's time to face what the world, and more importantly, Arthur, intend to throw at him today. Sitting up he looks to the guards outside the cell.

"They seem quiet," he observes to Arthur, studying the languid poses of the burly men assigned to watch the prisoners from Camelot. "What do you think's going on?"

But there's no reply and when Merlin turns to see why Arthur is so reticent to answer, his world crashes through his stomach. Arthur is gone. The place where he was sleeping is stone cold, Arthur has been gone for some time.

Eyes wide with fear, not for himself but for his prince, Merlin spins round on the spot. "Where is he?" he yells to the guards, who feign deafness and continue with whatever game they're playing.

Merlin rattles the bars to the cell, desperate for attention, and tries again. "Where's Prince Arthur?" he demands.

The guards sigh as one and lay down their counters on the small table before them. One of them rises and approaches the dungeon cell. Merlin feels the dread in his gut rising up through his gullet and settling in his throat as the guard matches his pose, hands on the bars either side of the warlock's hands.

"Prince Arthur has a personal audience with the King," he informs Merlin with a malicious glint in his eye. "He'll be some time I would imagine." He laughs and turns to his companion. "Isn't that right, Keridak?"

Keridak joins in the laughter, nodding with what Merlin regards as unseemly glee. "The King was most keen to continue their conversation in private," he agrees, carelessly picking up his counters from the table and turning them over in his hand. "Don't worry though, little one," he taunts, "I'm sure the King will treat with all due respect."

Merlin knows then that the contempt these men are showing for his prince will be their undoing. They're simple guards, he reasons with himself. They won't be believed if they ever have the gall to tell anyone what happened here today. They'll come up with some tale of false bravado to boost their own egos and save face in front of their king and comrades. Magic, he decides, has its place and this is it.

He turns away from the bars and lets his shoulders drop, allowing the guards to believe he's defeated. He listens for the game to restart before turning silently back to view the two men. They don't think Merlin is a threat and neither of them is even looking in his direction. Big mistake, Merlin muses as his eyes burn amber and the lock on the cell door begins to glow white hot.

After that it's merely a case of revelling in the look of shock from the guards as they turn to find the manservant standing above their game before he knocks their heads together with a power that his slight stature belies. Or at least, that's the story they'll tell when their replacements come to relieve them and find them unconscious at their game.

Cenred's castle is easy to negotiate. Merlin doesn't think the passages are that different to the ones in Camelot and he grudgingly accepts that Arthur may have been right about Cenred being too busy preparing for war to worry about much else in his kingdom. There are ridiculously few guards and those that Merlin does come across are easily distracted with a clatter behind them or a door slamming along the corridor. Years of fading into the background are standing the warlock in good stead and nobody notices just another servant scurrying towards the throne room.

Cenred's throne room is conveniently flanked by two imposing and, Merlin supposes, grandiose columns either side of the doors. There's a guard standing to attention by each pillar and Merlin stops briefly to consider his next step. He could use his magic to render the guards unconscious but the noise of them sliding down the walls to the ground might attract attention. Invisibility would be ideal in this situation but he still needs to get the doors open and doors simply don't open by themselves. He could try to stop time but he's never been very successful with that one.

On balance though, he decides, this is probably his best option. In the past his magic seems to work best under pressure and what could bring more pressure to bear than the Prince in what could turn out to be mortal danger? And he doesn't need to stop time for long, just to give himself enough time to get inside the throne room and hide himself while he works out his next move.

"_Andweardnes fordemman_ " he mutters, holding out an arm in the hope it might help the spell take effect.

For a moment nothing happens and he thinks he's failed. He sighs bitterly and holds out his other arm, ready to try again. Then slowly, so slowly he nearly misses it, a mist takes form around the guards' feet. It swirls and curls in intricate patterns that hold Merlin hypnotised for a moment before it tangles itself round the guards' legs and up their bodies.

Merlin watches, fascinated, as their faces freeze and all around him silence falls heavy and eerie. The castle has descended into an unnatural stillness and Merlin knows this is his chance, possibly his only chance. He doesn't know how long this will last.

He creeps forward until he stands before the doors. There has been no sign from either man by the throne room that he has been noticed so he takes the handles in both hands. The iron is cold beneath his touch and he bites his lower lip as he pulls the handles down and pushes the doors open.

He dare not look yet to see what scene is playing out in the throne room He simply turns to close the doors behind him, wondering idly why he's taking so much care to be quiet about it. Nobody can hear him or see him. He could raise a riot and no-one would know.

Turning back to the room he briefly spies a tableau in the centre of the room – Cenred is standing before his throne and Arthur is on his knees before the King, flanked by a number of guards while Cenred seems to have gathered his most trusted advisors to join them. The throne sits at the end of the hall and Merlin decides it's remarkably similar to Uther's seat of power in Camelot. He easily finds a pillar to conceal himself behind as he detects the sounds of life returning to the castle where he can watch Arthur and plan his next move.

He can't see Arthur's face from where he is but it doesn't take long to realise the Prince's armour has been removed and the chill in the room can only be to Arthur's detriment. As movement arrives back in the great hall Merlin sees Arthur repress a shiver and he wonders how long his master has been on his knees.

Cenred is smiling and Merlin doesn't like the way his smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. He knows the king to be a cruel, hard man and he worries about Arthur. He hopes the shiver is purely a result of the cold but then Cenred's voice returns and Merlin doesn't think the temperature is the only contributing factor.

"I've waited long enough for your answer, Sire," the king comments and Merlin wonders what the question was. "Sir Rience grows impatient, Arthur, and I for one would not like to be on the receiving end of his wrath."

One of Cenred's advisors smiles and Merlin thinks he must be Sir Rience. He's a tall man and although he is clothed regally Merlin suspects beneath his cloak there lies a lifetime of tournaments and challenges. His eyes are as cold as Cenred's words as he steps forward to take his place at the king's side.

Arthur shakes his head and raises his chin. Merlin can hardly hear his words when he speaks but the tone is unmistakably Arthur. "I would rather eat my own eyeballs than answer your questions," he spits and Merlin inwardly cheers, heartened that his prince hasn't lost his fighting spirit.

Rience tilts his head to one side. "That could be arranged, sire." He addresses his reply to Cenred but he doesn't take his eyes off the prisoner kneeling before him. "It could be quite entertaining."

Cenred laughs. "Oh Rience, my old friend. What would I do without your jokes? The world would, indeed be a much more sombre place." He steps forward and drops a heavy hand on Arthur's shoulder. "He would do it in a heartbeat, you know," he advises the young prince, faux friendship dripping through his every word. "I however, prefer more traditional methods and the world is an ugly enough place without defacing what little beauty there is."

Merlin's blood runs cold as he watches Cenred reach down to his waist and draw his ceremonial dagger. The hilt is covered is jewels which catch the morning sunlight. He raises it until it is level with Arthur's eyes, turning it round so the man before him understands just how lethal a weapon it is.

"I will give you one more chance," he tells the knight as he runs the point of the blade down the side of Arthur's face, stopping when it reaches the base of his throat, "and then there will be no more games."


	4. Chapter 4

Cenred's throne rooms seems suddenly much colder and Merlin suppresses a shiver, not wanting any little thing to give him away. He doesn't think the temperature has dropped but the king's words to Arthur are chilling and Merlin feels them reverberate through his very bones.

Arthur seems uncowed by Cenred's threats and Merlin knows the next few moments will determine the rest of the day and possibly – probably – the rest of their lives. Arthur can seem unpredictable to outsiders but to his manservant his every move is preceded by a look, a stance, an attitude, that Merlin has learnt to recognise over the years he's been with the prince.

The stance his prince is now shifting, oh so subtly, into, gives Merlin cause for concern. This, he thinks, could go one of three ways. Arthur might succumb gracefully and give Cenred whatever answer he's looking for, or Arthur might give Cenred a story so full of falsehoods it would make Uther proud, or he might let loose a diatribe full of hatred and disgust in Cenred's face.

Merlin's not a betting man but right now he reckons he could make a fortune by wagering his mother's lodgings on Arthur taking the latter course of action. Consequently he's really not surprised when Arthur jerks his head away from Cenred, inadvertently butting the guard behind him in the thigh, and hisses a reply which consists of threats and colourful invective, a tirade of abuse which would make many a knight blush. Even through his sense of foreboding Merlin finds it in himself to be quite impressed with the prince's vocabulary. He wonders if Uther knows his son can be quite so eloquent.

The resulting blow to Arthur's face really isn't any surprise and Merlin wonders if the prince was expecting worse when his only reaction is to shake his head and laugh, a hollow, bitter sound in the quiet of the throne room.

He watches, worried, as Rience steps forward and whispers in Cenred's ear. It's at times like this he wishes he had supernatural hearing. He makes a mental note to ask Gaius about sound enhancing spells when they return to Camelot. Cenred seems to pause for thought, hand raised for another blow, eyes locked on Arthur's face. Then he turns to his right-hand man and, although Merlin can't see him, he can feel the atmosphere in the room turn a complete circle. Cenred's hand drops as he nods slowly.

"Rience, my friend," he starts, calmly, "I believe you may have the answer." He steps away from Arthur and slowly, deliberately, turns his back on the prince. The king's steps echo around the hall, the noise of his footfall somehow ominous in themselves and Merlin wonders if he's practised a menacing walk in his spare time. The absurdity of the thought almost makes him laugh and he only just catches the chortle in his throat before it escapes.

He watches warily as Cenred reaches his throne and turns, letting his cloak swirl dramatically out behind him. He sits regally and folds his hands behind his head in a gesture totally at odds with the seriousness of the situation. He looks as though he's settling in for a show and Merlin thinks Arthur might just be headlining the bill.

Cenred nods once at Rience who steps up to the young knight and grasps him by his shirt front. The fabric pulls tight and rips slightly with the force used to raise Arthur from his knees to his feet. Merlin tenses, waiting to make his move, frantically searching his mind for any move he _can_ make. He doesn't know Rience, he's never even heard of him and from all appearances, Arthur doesn't know him either.

Rience's voice, when he finally speaks to his prisoner, is taunting, leering almost. He sneers as he talks, Merlin notices, and it changes his tone.

"How noble are you, Sire?" he asks Arthur.

"More than you could ever hope to be," is the prince's immediate reply and Merlin bites his lip, willing Arthur to be more diplomatic with his replies.

Rience doesn't seem to take offence though. "And how would you know of my nobility?" he enquires, a cold smile crossing his face while his fingers tighten in Arthur's shirt. "What do you know of me, Pendragon?"

Arthur lifts his head and Merlin wishes again that he could see his master's face. In his head he can see the sneer he can almost guarantee is matching the coldness in his adversary's face.

"I know everything I want to know," he hisses. "Everything I need to know."

"Then you know I am feared through Escetia. You know greater men than you have crumbled and wept at my feet. You know I can break you as easily as a blade of grass." He unwinds his fingers and smoothes the creases on Arthur's clothing, a parody of parental affection that makes both Arthur and Merlin shudder. "I can break you with one word."

"Then you clearly know very little of me," Arthur replies, his voice steady and firm. Merlin relaxes slightly in his hiding place.

Rience laughs loudly and turns to face his king. "Did you hear that, my Lord?" he asks Cenred. "Our guest has doubts about me. Shall I help him understand, Sire?"

Merlin turns his attention to Cenred. He has leant forward in his throne and seems captivated by the story playing out before him. He is resting his chin in his hand and his head is tilted slightly to one side. Merlin could smite him in one heartbeat, could smite the entire company but he won't. Arthur's ignorance is still too important to the warlock and, despite appearances, Merlin doesn't think the situation is so dire that magic is warranted. Not yet.

Cenred keeps silent but nods to his compatriot. Rience bows to the throne and then looks to the guards by the door. "Fetch Drudwyn," he commands.

Merlin wracks his brain, tries to place the name but just draws a blank. The look on Cenred's face fills him with fear. The king is smiling, a slight, only just there, sort of smile and in his eyes, Merlin can see anticipation. Rience is circling Arthur now, a similar look of anticipation on his face and he's nodding to himself. Merlin wonders about stopping time again but he doesn't think that would work twice and he wouldn't know what to do with his borrowed time anyway.

So time continues on its merry way although Merlin could swear it's slowed down of its own accord. Arthur remains standing, posture steady and strong. Cenred watches his prisoner like a hawk, although what he's looking for is anyone's guess. And Rience continues his solitary march round the knight, occasionally stopping to scrutinise an imagined speck of dust on his cloak.

When the doors finally swing open, Merlin isn't really expecting what he sees. Drudwyn is a small, balding man who has long since said goodbye to his youth. In some ways he reminds the sorcerer of Gaius, the way he moves into the king's presence, the way he bows deferentially but with the air of a man who really has no need to do so but is simply maintaining the old ways.

"Have you done what I asked?" Rience enquires of the old man who merely nods, not taking his eyes off Cenred.

"Then I believe there is no point delaying any further. The King has shown great patience up to now but there is a limit to his forbearance." He steps to one side and gestures to Arthur with a theatrical sweep of his arm. "The prince is all yours."

Drudwyn turns to Arthur and looks up at him. There is at least a head's height difference and in any other circumstances it would be comical. But as he holds lifts his arm and rests his hand on Arthur's forehead, Merlin's stomach turns to ice and what little food is in his gut makes an impressive effort to escape.

From where he is standing, Merlin has a clear line of sight on the old man. He has to blink a couple of times to confirm what he's seeing. The old man's eyes are changing, from blue to brown to gold to black. As Arthur falls to his knees, arms flailing out to the side, Merlin knows with a startling clarity that he is not the only person in Escetia with magic.

Before he knows what he's doing, Merlin finds his own arm raised, aimed at the newcomer who is threatening Arthur. He feels the magic tingling down his arm, flowing through his veins into his fingertips. He can almost taste victory as his hand splays open, the invisible force rent from his palm knocking Drudwyn's hand away from Arthur's head.

But before chaos can take hold, the old man is back in position, chanting an inaudible mantra. Cenred and Rience look momentarily confused but seem content to let the court's wizard take the lead.

Merlin shakes his head, frustrated, and raises his hand to repeat his performance. He no longer cares about hiding either himself or his magic. Prince Arthur's safety is his only concern. Awkward questions can be answered later, much later. He puts his all into the bolt of magic he feels building in his core but just as he is about to release it, the doors to throne room burst open and a knight of the court of Escetia flings himself in, throwing himself to his knees at Cenred's feet.

"My Lord," he gasps, breathless. "The prisoner. The other one. He's gone!"


	5. Chapter 5

Later, Arthur will swear blind to Merlin that he wasn't worried. But as the guard's word ring out through the throne room, dancing in and out of the columns before falling, silent and ominous, to the floor, Merlin realises their time has run out. He's always wondered about Arthur's reaction to his magic but he'd hoped it would be a good few years yet before he had to reveal himself.

He frantically glances around the hall, gauging the distance between himself and the doors, himself and Cenred and, most importantly himself and the prince. Who doesn't seem to be taking the news of his escape too well.

Arthur has regained his balance, albeit on his knees, and he's turning his head, first to the left, then to the right, then back to the left. Merlin presses himself back against the pillar trying to make himself as small as he possibly can. Rationally he knows Cenred won't suspect him of being in the throne room but now the cat is out of the bag he needs to be extra careful.

Cenred is on his feet immediately. "Search the castle," he orders. "Nobody is to leave or enter until we find him. How did he get out?"

The guard almost quivers as he shakes his head. "I don't know, Sire," he admits and Merlin reckons that's the hardest thing the man has ever had to say. Cenred doesn't suffer fools gladly and Merlin wonders whether the guards drew straws to see who would be the bearer of such bad news.

"Find out!" Cenred hisses, moving forward and past the guard. "Find out fast." He stops when he gets to where Arthur is still turning his head from side to side and bends down to the prince. "Where is he?" he demands of his prisoner. "Where is your servant? How did he get out?"

"Do you really think I would tell you?" Arthur mocks, although Merlin can hear the confusion and alarm behind his words. "He's long gone. He'll be in Camelot by now I would imagine, spilling all your secrets to my father's army." He laughs and looks up at Cenred. "Are you scared yet?" he taunts.

Merlin shakes his head, wishing Arthur would just learn when to talk and when to just shut up. Cenred isn't in the mood to be toyed with right now and the fist careening towards Arthur's jaw is testament to the fact. The impact of the blow knocks Arthur to the ground, spinning him round at the same time so that Merlin can finally see his face properly.

What he sees doesn't come as a surprise although he is shocked. The sight of his prince, bruised and bloodied far more than when Merlin had last seen him is all it takes for the warlock to tune out Cenred's bellowed orders to the remaining guards in the room. He doesn't hear the king commanding his servants to ready the horses, prepare a search party. He doesn't hear Rience snapping at Drudwyn to return to his rooms and wait there for his next instructions. He doesn't hear the guards scraping open the doors and he doesn't hear the knight who drops a heavy hand on his shoulder before shoving the unfortunate warlock from his hiding place with enough force to send him sprawling alongside Arthur on the cold stone floor.

When Merlin gathers his senses to him enough to open his eyes the first thing he sees is Arthur's clear blue eyes staring back at him, bemusement and bewilderment vying for top position. The prince's eyebrows seem to have gone on a hiking holiday of their own and his mouth is slightly open, allowing Merlin to see that although all his teeth seem to have survived his time with Cenred, his lower lip has been split open at some point during the interrogation.

"Merlin?" Arthur whispers, somewhat stupidly, ignoring the crashing silence that Merlin's appearance has caused. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Merlin marvels at the fact that Arthur can sometimes ask the most obvious questions to which there are no easy answers. He flounders for a few minutes, trying to come up with something that sounds plausible both to Arthur and the surrounding knights, guards and Cenred. He opens his mouth, thinks hard and then closes it again. Frowns and repeats the whole process.

He's on his third or fourth repetition when he feels hands hooking under his arms and he's hauled to his feet, facing Cenred and, just behind him, Rience. To his side he feels more than sees Arthur receiving the same treatment.

"Answer the question," Cenred demands and Merlin is painfully aware of all eyes on him, waiting with bated breath for his explanation.

He turns slightly so Arthur is in his line of vision. "Well," he begins hesitantly, "there was this…I could see…the guards were…I couldn't really…"

Arthur sighs, the sound of a longsuffering master tolerating his useless servant. "Merlin," he growls, "is there a good explanation for how you got here or not? If you hadn't noticed, I'm a little busy here."

"Ah, well," Merlin stutters, wondering how long he can keep up this pretence of foolishness before someone figures out what he's doing. "The thing is…and I don't really know how to put this…" he trails off, casting a nervous glance at Cenred and his cohort of knights and assorted noblemen.

Unable and unwilling to put words to his thoughts he flaps his hands around aimlessly, buying time to come up with something – anything – that will convince Arthur and their hostile audience his escape was the result purely of someone's innocent error. He wonders if sounding terrified will help and puts a little more fear into his voice.

"I suggest you try," Cenred snarls. "Try really hard."

The menace in the king's voice is almost enough to make Merlin confess all but one glance at Arthur and he knows he can't do that. This isn't the time. Instead he pulls a quizzical face, bites his lip in thought and shifts nervously from foot to foot. He flaps his hands about uselessly for added effect and shakes his head somewhat pathetically.

From his right, Arthur releases a deep sigh, probably of frustration Merlin acknowledges, and turns to gaze at the vaulted ceiling. "The things I put up with," he mutters softly, just as a commotion from outside detracts from his situation.

The guard has returned and Merlin feels dread creeping over him from his toes up to the roots of his hair. The man bows deeply and casts an anxious look at the warlock.

"Sire," he begins, hesitantly, waiting for a nod from Cenred before continuing. "The cell lock has been destroyed," he reports. "The guards were unconscious, my Lord."

The king takes the news calmly, considering. He turns to Merlin and raises an enquiring eyebrow. "Would you care to elaborate?" he questions.

The warlock shrugs. "Not really," he replies, honestly, and ignores the huff of breath from his right. Arthur might be amused or he might be really, really annoyed with his servant right now but Merlin doesn't really care.

"Not really?" the king replies and strokes his chin thoughtfully. "It just happened, did it?" He turns to the messenger. "Who were the guards?" he queries.

"Keridak and Ancelot," answers the man, keeping his head bowed and eyes averted from Cenred.

"Not the finest guards I've ever come across," muses the king. "Never mind, I shall deal with them later. In the meantime, I'm still wondering just how you managed to get out of the cells and into my throne room with nobody noticing." He directs a hard, cold glare at Merlin who shrugs again in a hopeless fashion. Cenred releases a frustrated 'tut' and turns to Arthur. "Maybe you know more than your servant," he suggests.

"It wouldn't be hard," the prince retorts, glaring at Merlin. "I sometimes wonder if he knows anything at all."

Merlin hopes the scathing tone in Arthur's voice is deliberate, an attempt to pull Cenred's attention away from Merlin and on to the prince himself. It is, the warlock believes, something Arthur would do, a noble, heroic, _stupid_ act.

The king laughs at Arthur's remark and nods a knowing nod, circling Merlin altogether too closely for the sorcerer's liking. He feels Arthur shift, registers the subtle change in tension in Arthur's posture and wonders if this stand off is going to last much longer. Cenred has stopped pacing and Merlin can feel his hot breath on his cheek, glancing off an ear as he sighs.

"You do realise," he murmurs softly enough for Merlin to have no doubt about his intentions, "that if you don't tell me your little secret," and Merlin really doesn't like the emphasis he puts on the word _secret, _"that I shall have to find ways to persuade you that honesty really is the best policy in my court," and he raises his eyebrows in an ominous fashion, inclining his head very slightly in Arthur's direction.

Merlin knows what he means. Of course he knows. He's been part of Uther's court long enough to recognise a veiled threat when he hears one. Although, he reflects, Uther isn't really one for subtlety when it comes to threats. Cenred's meaning, however, is as clear as day to the servant. If Merlin keeps his counsel, then Cenred will use Arthur to persuade Merlin to talk.

And therein lies Merlin's dilemma. If he talks, Arthur will know everything. Merlin may as well sign his own death sentence. But he would be free to break Cenred's hold on them, at liberty to use spells, sorcery, any magic at his disposal, in order to get Arthur home to the safety of Camelot.

If he keeps quiet, though, Cenred will use his devotion to Arthur to his own advantage. Arthur will be the one to pay for Merlin's silence and while Arthur is the strongest man Merlin knows, he's not sure his prince is in the right place, mentally or physically, to take it right now.

He turns his head and glances at Arthur over the king's shoulder noting the smouldering anger the prince's eyes melding with confusion and maybe, just maybe, a little bemusement. A blink, a slight twitch from Arthur and Merlin's decision is made.

The warlock holds his head high and looks Cendred in the eye. He takes a deep breath, formulates his reply in his head and opens his mouth.


	6. Chapter 6

Merlin's mouth stays open for longer that he would have liked. The answer in his head seems to have lost its way between his brain and his tongue. He can feel the attention of every man in the room weighing heavily upon him, from Cenred to Rience, from the nobility of Escetia's court to his own prince, Arthur. Everyone is waiting, some more patiently than others, some with bated breath, others with amusement loitering behind each breath.

"Well," Cenred finally prompts, clearly bored of this game he obviously believes Merlin is playing. "What's it to be, boy?" The king steps to Arthur and rests the hilt of his sword under the prince's chin, forcing his head back. "Your answer, or your prince?"

Merlin can feel the waves of resentment sliding off Arthur as Cenred forces his head back further than should really be possible. He's aware of Arthur swallowing, with difficulty, and tries to block out the little hiss of pain as teeth clatter uncomfortably together. He can't let this go on, he thinks.

"Leave him alone," he hisses. "I'll tell you what you want to know," and he waits for Cenred to turn his attention back to him. He tries to ignore the way Arthur's head drops forward altogether too quickly when he's released. He tries to ignore the stifled huff of air that escapes the prince's mouth. He tries to ignore the glare winging its way from Arthur to himself.

Cenred is standing before the warlock almost before Merlin realises. He can feel the king's hot breath against his face, feels the anticipation seeping from Cenred's every pore, senses the tension in the room mounting to almost farcical levels. He knows Arthur is still surrounded, helpless to fight for himself and he knows he can't delay any longer.

"The thing is," he starts, twisting his fingers in the hem of his tunic. "The thing is," and he casts a glance at Arthur, pausing for a breath that he truly doesn't need. He bites his lower lip and turns back to Cenred, raising hopeful, hopeless eyes to the king. "The guards didn't lock them after they took Arthur away?"

"The guards?" Cenred's answer is tinged with disbelieving laughter. "I can believe some of my guards may have made that simple mistake but I do believe they would be paying for it with their lives about now." He looks around the room, seeks out Rience's eyes and nods once, so subtly Merlin reckons no-one but he and Rience have noticed it. Merlin's heart sinks as the older man breaks into a slow, cold smile.

"My Lord," he begins, softly. "If I may?" and his hand slides beneath his robes where Merlin has no doubt there lies a multitude of instruments of which he would much prefer to remain ignorant.

Cenred claps a hand on Merlin's shoulder so suddenly and so forcefully the sorcerer jumps, a little exaggerated perhaps but then he has a performance to keep up. It would never do for the king to suspect he's not quite so scared or gormless as he's making out.

"Are you really telling me the truth?" Cenred asks quietly, eyes boring into Merlin's with such a fire that Merlin wonders if the king has his own magical secret.

He nods, rapidly. "Oh, yes," he states. "It was definitely the guards. You should punish them."

"I will," Cenred reassures him with faux camaraderie. "I thank you for bringing their slovenly ways to my attention." He pauses, his gaze drifting upwards and it's all Merlin can do not to follow his sightline. "Unfortunately," he drawls, "I don't quite believe you. Do you care to change your story?"

Merlin risks a sideways glance at Arthur who is still glaring at his manservant, but now there's something else in his eyes. It's that look he gives Merlin when he's done something remarkably stupid, or remarkably sensible. Merlin hasn't quite worked out the difference between the two yet – Arthur can be incredibly subtle when he wants.

The prince raises his eyebrows when he notices Merlin looking at him and Merlin knows there's a question in that expression that he can't really answer. He knows Arthur, for one, has not believed his explanation although he thinks the prince is willing to go with it for now.

Cenred, on the other hand, isn't so easy to pacify.

"You've made your choice then, boy," he concludes. "I really hope Arthur is up to this."

Not for the first time, Merlin wonders if he's made a terrible mistake. Maybe this _is_ the time to reveal himself, to show Arthur just how devoted he is to his prince. Maybe it won't end the way he's envisaged it so many times in his dreams. There's an outside chance Arthur might understand. There's always the possibility Uther might be persuaded to listen to his son.

But his musings are cut short by Rience pulling his hand from beneath his cloak with a flourish Merlin is sure he's been practising for years in anticipation of a moment such as this. Merlin is convinced everyone in the throne room has seen the glint of metal in the nobleman's hand.

The warlock's blood runs cold as he watches Cenred's right hand man motion to the guards who seem to be in on the plan. As Arthur's arms are gripped tightly by Escetia's finely trained soldiers, Merlin finds his eyes locked on Arthur's.

"No!" he bursts out, unable to bear being the cause of more pain to Arthur. He lunges forward, throwing his arms out in a vain effort to help Arthur. All he gets for his trouble is a pair of guards of his own, mirroring the prince's own position.

It seems he is the only one who is prepared to put an end to this spectacle. As Arthur struggles in a seemingly iron grip, as only Arthur could, kicking out at his captors, throwing his head back, trying to butt the man behind him, Rience looks triumphantly to Merlin and opens his hand revealing his weapon of choice.

At first glance, Merlin thinks Rience holding a child's toy but the intricate design is too elaborate to be a child's rattle and he realises with a badly suppressed shiver that what at first seemed harmless is in fact a sprinkler of some description.

Merlin's heard of the various methods of torture used throughout the kingdom. He can't be where he is and work for who he works for without coming into contact with the less salubrious side of castle life. Torture exists everywhere but he never thought he'd see it firsthand. He's accepted he may end his life at the stake if things go badly wrong for him but he's never considered how he would react if Arthur were on the receiving end of such treatment.

But it seems they are all about to find out how strong Camelot breeds its citizens. Arthur's physical strength is about to be tested and Merlin hopes he can be mentally strong enough for the prince.

Because nobody is listening to him anymore. It doesn't seem to matter anymore how often or how loudly he protests. The cogs have been set in motion and Rience is an unstoppable machine. Cenred has taken a backseat, literally as he settles comfortably on his throne, watching with rapt attention more suited to a child's first encounter with snow.

The doors of the throne room clashing open distract Merlin for only a instant, long enough to register the arrival of two weary looking servants carrying cauldron, the contents of which are steaming and hissing and spitting. It doesn't take a genius to work out that this is going to hurt.

Looking across at Arthur, Merlin knows with certainty that Arthur has figured it out too. The prince has renewed his struggles and there's a different look on his face now. Merlin can see fear in his eyes although Arthur is doing his absolute best to hide it from everyone. He once told Merlin that fear could be his worst enemy and now Merlin understands why.

Rience holds his free hand out and accepts a ladle from one of the servants, who have now placed the cauldron on the stone floor. Merlin watches, transfixed, as the man scoops up a ladleful of molten metal, grinning as he lets it pour back down to splash harmlessly into the pool below. Merlin can feel the heat from where he is.

Cenred's aide plants himself directly in front of Arthur who stills instantly.

"My Lord," the man mocks the Crown Prince of Camelot, bowing deeply. "If I may have your arm, Sire," and he waits for the guards to pull Arthur's left arm away from his body and offer it out to Rience.

Merlin shakes his head rapidly in denial. "No," he gasps. "You can't do this. You can't do this!" but nobody is listening to him anymore.

"You will pay for this," Arthur states calmly, as though he already knows his fate. Maybe, Merlin thinks, maybe he's got a plan and this isn't actually going to happen after all.

"I believe it is you who will pay, sire," Rience disagrees. "You will pay for your servant's disloyalty." He leans forward and drops his voice, taunting Arthur. "How does it feel to know your servant cares so little for you? To know he would rather see you into the next world than tell the truth? If I were you I would look closely at my companions."

He straightens up again and Merlin can see that his words have had their desired effect. Arthur looks unsettled and it's nothing to do with the molten silver or the impending pain he's preparing himself for. No, Merlin knows Rience has sown a seed of doubt in his prince's mind and that is something that he can't allow.

"That's not true, Arthur," the warlock shouts, desperate to snap Arthur's attention back to the here and now. "You know it's not true."

"Then what is true?" Cenred asks, and Merlin wonders if that's a genuine curiosity in his voice.

Merlin is torn. He's not entirely sure what question the king is actually posing. His loyalty to Arthur is second to none and he doesn't care who knows it.

"I would never betray Arthur," he spits at the king who merely nods slowly before directing his next words in Rience's direction.

"Wrong answer," he says with finality.

Merlin is so busy staring at the king, trying to work out what his question really way that Arthur's scream takes him completely by surprise but he knows instantly that it's a sound he will never forget. Spinning round he sees Arthur being held upright by his guards, molten silver dripping from Rience's sprinkler on to the prince's arm, burning through the thin fabric of his tunic and searing into his skin, melding fabric and flesh together.

Merlin can't imagine what Arthur is feeling but as more liquid metal falls from Rience's instrument of torture the prince's screams fade into an incoherent mumble. The smell of burning flesh turns Merlin's stomach.

"Stop it," he pleads. "Please, stop this. I'll tell you what you want to know just stop this. Please."

Rience lifts the sprinkler away from Arthur and Merlin tries not to notice how the drips fall upon the stone floor and bubble, scalding the ground and trickling into the cracks between the flagstones.

"I'm disappointed," Cenred admits. "Rience has only just got started. I expected more from Camelot's people but then maybe I had Uther right all along. A coward leading cowards. What could I have really expected?"

"Merlin," Arthur groans, lifting his head from where it's fallen. "Don't say a thing. Do you hear me?"

Merlin bites his lip, studying the injured knight beside him. He's stunned by Arthur's lucidity although really, what did he think Arthur was going to do? Fall and weep like a girl?

"Arthur…" he begins.

"I mean it, Merlin," Arthur mumbles. "Do what you do best and say nothing."

Somewhere deep inside Merlin is cheered that Arthur still has his cutting sense of humour. It means Arthur, his Arthur, is still in there, still functioning, still fighting.

"I'm sorry, Arthur," Merlin whispers, ignoring the audience they have.

"Enough!" Cenred snaps. "This is all very touching but I'm not getting the answers I want and I'm losing patience." He leans forward on his throne, baring his teeth. "And you really don't want me to lose my patience," he warns ominously.


	7. Chapter 7

Merlin has never known such uncertainty and he really doesn't know how to deal with it. Arthur is on his feet purely courtesy of the guards holding him upright. His last words to Merlin before fading out completely were to keep quiet, tell the court of Escetia nothing. But Merlin doesn't think Arthur truly understands what Cenred is actually asking. In fact, Merlin doesn't think Arthur is really in a state to understand anything right now.

Cenred, it transpires, was lying about his lack of patience. Turns out, he has a vast supply of it. Certainly enough to move proceedings from his throne room to his dungeons. Although not back to the cells, Merlin notes, protesting all the while. The vast, echoing cavern the warlock now finds himself in could have be drawn straight from a child's storybook of fairy tales. But not the cute, happy ending type of tales. Oh no, more the type parents read to their offspring to encourage good behaviour. The type where the protagonist gets his thumb cut off for sucking it during the day.

The cold stone walls drip with water, chilling the air to a degree or two lower than either Merlin or Arthur is comfortable with. Arthur, Merlin notes, isn't completely unconscious. Whether the temperature has worked to his advantage or not Merlin can't tell, but the prince, eyes barely open, is still capable of muttering the odd curse at his captors. Merlin can't hear the exact words but the look of hatred growing on the guard's face gives him enough reassurance that his master is still alive.

Cenred laughs, the sound bouncing off the walls and various pieces of furniture Merlin prefers not to look at too closely.

"Are you changing your mind yet, boy?" the king demands of Merlin. "I don't know about you," he confides, smiling, "but I think Rience is getting a little tired of waiting." He nods in the direction of his right hand man who stands next to a well used table which Merlin knows is not for eating off.

He thinks hard about what Arthur would want. His prince is still clinging to consciousness but the warlock doesn't know how much awareness is attached to it. It could be the knight is listening to every word, taking it all in, preparing for a last minute attack. Then again, it could be the future King of Camelot has retreated into his own world, found a safe place deep within his head where nobody can hurt him.

Merlin wets his lower lip nervously and looks for a way out of the situation. Any way.

"Oh well," Cenred sighs, seemingly disappointed. "Rience must do what he does then."

"No," Merlin starts but Rience is like a machine. Once he's set in motion, there seems to be no stopping him.

"Maybe Arthur would like to tell us how you came to escape your prison," he muses and waves at a servant who Merlin hasn't noticed before. The servant is barely out of childhood and Merlin can see fear in the boy's eyes as he moves forward with a bucket of ice cold water which he tosses carelessly over the prince.

Arthur gasps, his head shooting up as the water hits his chest and head, splashing over his face and in his hair. His eyes widen with the shock and his head spins round, clearly trying to get his bearings. It only takes a few seconds but in that short time Merlin reckons the strategist in Arthur has taken stock of their situation, the number of enemies, the weapons at their disposal should they get the chance to use them and all their escape routes. Arthur's ability to assess a bad situation is something Merlin has blind faith in.

"Merlin?" Arthur sounds lost and it almost brings Merlin to the brink of despair. He knows Arthur so well, has been through so much with the young prince, thought he'd never hear that tone of voice. In his heart he knows it's temporary but if he can hear it, so can Cenred and his men.

"It's okay, Arthur," he calls out. "You're okay. We're okay."

Arthur grunts in understanding and shakes his head, water droplets flying from his hair, showering his guards. Merlin catches the grimace on his face as the man to his left jerks away from the spray, pulling the prince's injured arm. The warlock's gaze strays down to Arthur's wound but all he can see is flesh and fabric joined together in an ugly display of cruelty. He wishes there was something he could to ease the obvious pain Arthur feels but he thinks that would only make the situation worse. Besides, Arthur's suffered far more for far less.

"Be careful, you buffoon," Arthur hisses, his spirit clearly back on the rise. The guard merely raises a surprised eyebrow, as though he had assumed the prince was no longer capable of coherent thought, let alone speech.

Cenred, too, seems perplexed by the statement. He drops his head to one side to study the young man hanging by his arms, face altogether too pale for Merlin's liking. The king turns his attention to Arthur, giving Merlin a clear view of his back. The warlock isn't an expert in body language but it doesn't take a physician to be able to detect the hardening of muscles down Cenred's back and across his shoulders. Tension radiates from the older man and Merlin doesn't want to know what release that tension is going to take.

"Welcome back, sire." Cenred bows deeply, mocking Arthur's position of subservience. "Your servant has a very limited understanding of how to speak to a king. He is very reluctant to answer my questions."

Arthur snorts, a thin sound and Merlin thinks he's done it mostly to cover a grunt of pain. "My servant has a limited understanding of how to speak to anyone," he retorts. "You'll be lucky to get two words of sense out of him."

"Nevertheless," Cenred postulates, "he must be made to see sense. Your tuition of him has been severely lacking in court etiquette." The king smiles. "But don't worry, Arthur. We shall put him right. All he needs is the right incentive."

Merlin feels his blood chill as the king turns to give him a cold, calculating smile. "I'll tell you anything you want to know," he blurts out, unable to stop the words falling from his lips, indifferent to the consequences of any such confession.

"You'll do no such thing, Merlin," Arthur commands, steel edging his words and Merlin realises his prince is about to be disillusioned as to his servant's true nature.

"No, no, Arthur," Cenred laughs. "Let the boy speak. I'm sure he has something of worth to tell us." He steps up to Merlin, so close Merlin can smell the remains of the man's last meal on his breath. "Tell me, boy. How did you escape my cell?"

Merlin looks to Arthur. His prince is having trouble staying upright but the glare he directs at the sorcerer is hard to misinterpret. Merlin thinks deep down the prince is just as curious as the king, probably more so, but his loyalty to Camelot is stronger than any personal curiosity. Arthur would clearly rather go to the pyre than tell Cenred anything about his father's kingdom or any of its citizens. Including Merlin.

Merlin searches his head for a plausible answer. Again. And comes up with nothing.

"I'm sorry, Arthur," he mutters and tries to ignore the look of disappointment on his prince's face. "I'm really sorry."

"Merlin," Arthur growls, his voice strong and deep, and Merlin's impressed. He didn't think Arthur had it in him. Anymore than he thought Arthur had the energy for the sudden display of violence as the prince pulls both his arms together, swinging the guards hanging on to his wrists together, clashing into each other in front of Arthur.

The following moments would be comical in any other circumstances and Merlin takes a minute out to appreciate the humour as the guards seem to knock each other out, falling to the ground in a heap at Arthur's feet. The prince bends forward and grasps a sword from the belt of one of the fallen men, swinging it wildly round in front of him, co-ordination not quite following him but close enough to keep the remaining guards and Cenred at bay.

"Not so sure of yourself now, are you, Cenred?" Arthur pants, the exertion clearly overwhelming his already beleaguered body as he struggles to hold the sword steady. "Let Merlin go and we'll be on our way."

But Cenred's reaction isn't what Arthur was probably hoping for. The king simply steps back and laughs. Rience, who Merlin had almost forgotten about, has manoeuvred his way behind Arthur. Any other time, any other place there is no way the nobleman would be able to do that, Merlin muses as he opens his mouth to shout a warning.

"Arthur!" he cries.

But the warning comes too late. As Arthur raises his eyes to Merlin, already spinning to face the new threat, Rience lifts the hilt of his own sword and brings it down, hard, on the base of Arthur's skull.

The prince stumbles to his knees, eyes rolling back in his head before collapsing completely at Rience's feet on the cold, hard floor.


	8. Chapter 8

Merlin feels old. So old. His body may well be that of a man hardly into adulthood but in his bones he feels a thousand years old. Seeing Arthur fall at Rience's feet has put a decade on him at least. Seeing the prince's hair falling softly into his face, covering his eyes like a blanket at bedtime, has burned its way into Merlin's very soul.

He tries to block out the sound of laughter from Escetia's assembled crowd. He wasn't aware before today that the humiliation of neighbouring royalty was a spectator sport although, he supposes, if the shoe were on the other foot and Uther were standing where Cenred is, then Camelot's finest would surely be invited to the show as well.

But it's _not_ a show. It's a debacle. It's cruelty in its simplest form. Merlin doubts even whether much imagination has gone into the execution of Arthur's ruin. He wouldn't dignify Cenred with that much intelligence although Rience is an unknown force. He thinks the nobleman is probably the power behind this particular side of the king.

Merlin starts forward, desperate to get to his prince, to see with his own eyes, feel with his own hands, that Arthur is going to get up from this one. But the guards seem to have anticipated his every move and their hands tighten round his arms so tightly he thinks they're about to cut off the blood flow to his fingers.

"Let me go to him," he begs Cenred, putting a little more pathos into his voice than necessary. While they leave Arthur on the cold floor, which could in itself lead to problems, they are at least ignoring the prince and Merlin need not worry about further torture.

"So you _are_ concerned for him then?" Cenred teases. "I was beginning to wonder. Rience will be most disappointed." He looks to the nobleman in question who is standing victorious over Arthur's still, too still, body.

"Fear not, my lord," Rience smiles. "The prince lives on. We will have time to question the servant yet," and he gives Cenred a miniscule bow, so small Merlin wonders if anyone else sees it.

"Well," the king exclaims, slapping his thighs in joy, "there is good news for us all." He turns back to Merlin, a wicked glint in his eye. "Unless you give me a reason not to, of course."

This is his chance, Merlin realises. Arthur is oblivious to anything at the moment and Merlin really doesn't care about anyone else at the moment. There may well be some awkward explaining to do at some point in the future but as long as there is a future Merlin thinks he can work round that.

"Oh, I can give you many reasons," Merlin mutters, glaring at Cenred through blazing eyes. "I could give you so many reasons you'd run out of fingers to count them on even if you used every finger in court. You'd need every scribe in your kingdom to write them all down and you'd still run out of parchment." Merlin's on a roll now and doesn't notice Cenred's face darkening with every exaggerated statement he makes. "You probably don't know all the numbers that go high enough to count the reasons I could give you. Your knights could fight a thousand battles in the time it will take me to tell you all the reasons. You…"

"Enough!" Cenred snaps, closer to Merlin than the warlock had realised. "You taunt me once too often, boy. You will pay for this with your master's blood."

"No!" Merlin snaps back. "_You_ will pay for this with your own blood. Yours and that of your men." He leans forward as far as the guards still holding him allow. "You will never know what hit you," he promises.

Cenred spins round to Rience and nods once, a curt, sharp movement but it's all Rience needs. He stoops down, grasps Arthur's hair with one hand, brutally lifting the prince's head from the ground, while the with the other he wields his sword, the metal glinting in the glow of the torches scattered around the dungeon.

As he brings the blade down to bear on Arthur's throat, Merlin feels the world slow, feels every pulse of blood through his vein, hears every heartbeat pounding against his skull, senses every breath leaving his lungs. With a strength that his scrawny frame belies he pulls his arms free of his captors and throws one hand out towards Arthur and Rience. The air crackles around the warlock and he feels the magic flowing through his sinews, surging to his extremities.

He needs no words of sorcery for this. This is pure emotional alchemy. With a single thought, a feeling, his fingers splay and Rience and his sword are flying backwards across the dungeon and Arthur drops the short distance back to the floor which, Merlin realises rather belatedly, must hurt.

Merlin returns his attention to Cenred who is staring at him rather stupidly. Merlin can't quite work out whether the king is trying to work out what just happened or whether he's trying to reconcile the act with the person. Either way, he decides, he doesn't really care. He simply stands there, holding Cenred's slightly panicked eye with a small, knowing smile.

"Now then," the warlock says, "about those reasons…"

"You?" Cenred splutters, holding a hand up to his guards who seem to be as uncertain as the king as to what the next move should be. "You have magic?"

Merlin nods slowly. "That would be one reason," he confirms.

Cenred drops his arm and a sly smile crosses his face as he glances at the fallen prince. "Does Arthur know?" he questions.

"What do you think?" Merlin replies, wondering if the king really is stupid enough to have to ask or whether there is some subtext to the question he can't really be bothered to seek out.

"I think not," the king concludes. "Else you would not be here. You would not be allowed to live if Uther knew. Which he would do if the prince knew."

"Who does or doesn't know is none of your concern," Merlin replies. "All you need to know is that I am taking Prince Arthur and we are leaving. Now. If you know what's good for you, you won't try to stop me."

He steps over to where Arthur is lying, aware of all eyes on him. He doesn't know how long he has. He's not sure how he's managed to keep up the bravado for so long and he thinks Cenred will see through him any minute now. He's never killed a man in cold blood before and he's not sure if he could bring himself to do it. Arthur has told him many times how the first time stays with you forever and he makes a mental note to pay more attention to the prince next time he tells the story of his first kill.

The warlock circles round Arthur, making sure he can see Cenred at all times. It seems some of Arthur is rubbing off on him after all, he muses. The king is watching him warily but Merlin reckons he has the upper hand still. Cenred doesn't seem to know what to make of Merlin's magic. He could be scared but Merlin has the feeling the king is no stranger to sorcery and witchcraft. The warlock isn't sure if that's a good thing or not.

He can't waste time wondering about that now though. Arthur is stirring, moaning and twisting his head from side to side although consciousness seems to be some way off yet. Merlin drops to his knees by Arthur's head and rests a hand on the prince's forehead. Arthur twitches, tries to shake off the touch but Merlin won't have it. The skin beneath his fingers is cold and clammy. He gently brushes the prince's hair to one side and Arthur seems soothed by the gesture.

"Where will you go, boy?" Cenred suddenly demands. "How do you propose to leave here? I doubt you can carry the prince and run. You wouldn't get very far." He shakes his head and casts what Merlin thinks is probably a meaningful look to Rience. "I have a suggestion." He flicks an imaginary speck of dirt off his shoulder and brings his hand down to rest on the hilt of his sword. "Leave him where he is, we'll take good care of him, and join me. Uther is a well known enemy to both magic and Escetia. The second he finds out about you, and he will, he will hunt you down like an animal and end you. Together we can put a stop to that, a stop to Uther"

Merlin can't quite believe what he's hearing but on reflection it doesn't really surprise him. He always thought Uther to be unreasonable in his quest against sorcery and magic, but always knew deep down Camelot's king's views couldn't be shared by everyone.

Merlin pauses and looks down at Arthur. Cenred has a point about his limited escape plan. He hasn't really thought it through. The prince is not a child to be thrown over his should and hauled around at will. Carrying him will take all his energy and concentration and an attack from Escetia's guards won't take long to put an end to his bid for freedom.

He looks up at Cenred, sees the cold, calculating eyes assessing him, and looks down at Arthur once more.

"You promise not to hurt him?" he asks.

"On my life," Cenred promises, although the promise rings hollow to the warlock.

Merlin stands slowly. "I _will_ kill you if he comes to harm."

"Prince Arthur will be well cared for."

Merlin sighs, his decision made.

"Alright," he says. "I'll join you."


	9. Chapter 9

Cenred's hospitality is certainly better than his inhospitality, Merlin muses. The chambers he has been brought to are, if not sumptuous, comfortable and warm. From the window he can see the sun high in the sky and he estimates it to be around midday. He can see the fields leading away to the foot of the hills, although mountain might be a better description. The rugged outcrops seem somehow fitting to the kingdom.

He sighs and turns away from the tantalising view of freedom and sits at the table, laden with enough bread, ham and fruit to feed an entire village. Picking up a pear he turns it over in his hand before taking a bite of the sweet fruit. He hadn't realised how hungry he has become but as the juice slides easily down, the flesh sticks in his throat, thoughts of Arthur flooding his head.

He lays the bitten produce on the table before, watching as the white inners slowly decay, turning yellow and dry. He hasn't seen Arthur since the guards lifted him gently from the dungeon floor and carried him away to Cenred's physician for attention and despite the king's assurances the prince is in good hands, Merlin wishes he were with him. Cenred, however, was adamant he replenish himself ahead of an impending council meeting, the purpose of which seems to be to plot Uther's downfall and the consequent overthrow of Camelot.

There is a knock at the door and Merlin, unaccustomed to such courtesies, starts. Cenred enters with little ceremony and stalks up to the table.

"I trust you're well rested," he begins. "The court is assembling and we should be on our way."

"How's Arthur?" Merlin asks, unwilling to go anywhere until he's received the assurances he wants.

"He's well," Cenred answers after a pause which Merlin doesn't like. "He's being cared for."

"I want to see him," the warlock demands, standing up and pushing the chair away, ignoring the way it scrapes along the ground.

Cenred dips his head, a parody of deference Merlin thinks, and then looks up, his eyes devoid of any emotion. "I'm afraid that won't be possible at the moment. Drudwyn is healing him as we speak and has left instructions that the prince needs total rest and quiet. You'll see him as soon as he is well enough to receive visitors."

Something about the king's tone of voice doesn't sit right with the warlock and he decides he needs to see his master, regardless of what Escetia's physician has to say about it. Although, on reflection Merlin isn't even sure Drudwyn is a physician. He was certainly doing something to Arthur in the throne room that has no place in the medical books.

Cenred is moving to the door, clearly expecting Merlin to follow him and the warlock wonders whether now is the time to dig his heels in and insist on seeing the prince. He's been protecting Arthur for such a long time but it's always been instinctual, spur of the moment, live or die action. He's not really had to think about it before, never had to come up with a scheme, a plan of action. It feels alien and daunting to him.

He's startled from his musing by Cenred clearing his throat in a meaningful way. "Shall we?" the king asks, motioning to the door with his arm in a friendly fashion but Merlin doesn't miss the way his hand rests on his sword so he simply nods and follows Cenred down countless corridors and passageways. He wonders if his room is the furthest from the council chambers for a reason and tries to remember the various doors and stairs and turrets they pass on the way.

The king seems to prefer to keep his political affairs separate to his royal duties and the council meets in a small anteroom to the king's personal chambers. The room, Merlin notes, is set out for business, not comfort. The table is bare and the chairs surrounding it are occupied by Escetia's nobles and although the warlock vaguely remembers a few of them from the throne room and dungeons, only Rience is instantly recognisable.

The king's right hand man stands as Cenred and Merlin enter, eyeing Merlin in a way that makes the sorcerer altogether uncomfortable. He nods deferentially to Cenred and gets straight to the point.

"Camelot is complacent, my lord," he informs the court with a sly look at Merlin out of the corner of his eye and Merlin can see the man smirking, enjoying the warlock's discomfort. He clearly has a long way to go before he believes Merlin to be a friend to Escetia. "Uther does nothing about the ransom demand. It seems he cares little for his son and heir."

Merlin feels his blood run cold. He had really, truly, believed Uther would send an army out after Arthur. For himself he expects nothing. The king has always been blatantly dismissive of servants but for Arthur? He would have wagered his life's earnings, such as they are, that the prince would be the one thing Uther would lay down his own life for.

Cenred laughs at the news. "You hear that, Merlin?" he asks. "Now is the time for us to strike at the very heart of Camelot. The king and his knights will fall at the first battle." He makes his way to the head of the table, leaving Merlin standing uncertainly at the foot, and sits, leaning back casually into his seat. "And with your magic there will be no stopping us. Camelot will be mine."

Merlin's stomach is churning so much he's surprised the assembled noblemen don't hear him. He wants to be sick and the duplicity he's committing makes him feel even worse.

"How do you intend to do that?" he enquires, innocent curiosity lacing his question. "Uther won't surrender without a fight." He allows himself a moment of satisfaction. His words are true but nothing Cenred doesn't already know.

"But we have you, my traitorous little sorcerer," Cenred gloats. "You are the last thing Uther will be expecting and with his naïve rejection of sorcery he will have no defence against it. There is nothing to stop us being victorious."

Rience coughs tactfully, gaining his king's attention. "My lord," he begins, giving Merlin another look that chills the warlock to the bone. "We must tread carefully."

"You worry too much, old friend." Cenred turns to Rience and smiles. "We have the perfect decoy. Uther will welcome the magician if not with open arms, at least without suspicion. The boy will be able to walk freely around Camelot, open the gateway for us and we will have the element of surprise, might and magic on our side."

Merlin lets his head drop, gaze falling on the ground, unwilling to meet anyone's eye. The king has outlined a plan perfect in its simplicity and Merlin has no doubt he can execute it with little trouble. Gaius will see straight through him but Camelot's physician is an old man, a practitioner of magic in his time and no matter how strong the bond he holds with Uther, news of Arthur will win in the king's eyes.

It could work, Merlin decides. It _will_ work.

He'll make it work.


	10. Chapter 10

Rationally Merlin knows it's all in his imagination but night seems to fall much faster in Escetia than in Camelot. He's been pacing in his chamber for what feels like days but is probably only a couple of hours. Out of the window he can see the court preparing for sleep, citizens scurrying about carrying out the final chores of the day, getting ready for the night ahead. He can hear children laughing and mothers calling for their wayward offspring to hurry up. He can hear the menfolk exchanging the time of day, arranging times and places to meet for a flagon of Escetia's finest ale.

It takes a long time for silence to fall and Merlin thinks he must have bitten every nail to the quick by now. He studies his hand aimlessly, realising his nerves really must be as bad as he thought.

The meetings he's had with the noblemen and warriors play on his mind. He knows that somehow someone will get word to Arthur, will let the Prince of Camelot know that his loyal manservant has turned. He can't let that happen before he's had the chance to see Arthur for what could turn out to be the last time. He needs, wants, to see his master once last time before he sets in motion a chain of events that might destroy everything he's striven so hard to protect.

Sighing deeply he turns away from the window and paces slowly over to the door of his room. Placing an ear on the ancient solid oak, he strains to hear what activity may be taking place. His finely tuned hearing picks up nothing. He's sure Cenred will have placed a heavily armed guard outside his room – it's what Uther would do, he muses – but Merlin has evaded heavier security than that in the past. His motivation is strong and the warlock is unstoppable.

Opening the door as quietly as he can he's unsurprised to come face to face with what must be Cenred's largest, and possibly stupidest, guard. Merlin feigns surprise, mixed with a genuine disgust at the man's rancid breath, and offers him a hesitant smile.

"I need to speak to Cenred," he improvises. "There are things he needs to know, things I forgot to tell him." He steps confidently out of his chambers. "Don't worry," he smiles, "I know the way. You just stay there and guard the room like you were told. I'm sure that's what Cenred would tell you."

Merlin really can't believe his luck when the guard looks slightly puzzled, eyebrows creasing in the centre of his face, brow wrinkling with the effort of thought, before nodding slowly and stepping back to allow the warlock to pass unhindered.

It's takes everything Merlin has not to run down the passage way until he's out of sight of the behemoth Cenred saw fit to post outside his room. It takes a lot not to giggle at the sheer ease with which he has manoeuvred his way out of what is effective house arrest to the relative freedom of the castle.

He passes few people on his travels and although he reckons one castle is pretty much like the next, he can't find Drudwyn's chambers. He's starting to think Cenred could do with a lesson in directions when he spots a servant scuttling down a passageway carrying a tray of potion bottles and pill boxes. Merlin allows himself a small smile as he sets off in pursuit, keeping to the shadows as best he can.

The servant disappears round a corner just as Merlin hears footsteps approaching from the opposite direction. He wants to follow the servant but the footsteps are joined by voices and he knows he can't risk discovery so he ducks back behind a stone column, making himself as small as physically possible.

It's clear that his wanderings are undiscovered thus far as two knights saunter past his hiding place and he can hear the jovial banter he's so familiar with in Camelot. For a brief moment he experiences a pining for Lancelot and Gwaine and Leon, for all of them, but he knows there is no help coming from Camelot and even if there was he's made decisions that he needs to fulfil by himself.

He takes a deep breath and lets his head fall back against the cold stone wall, waiting until the knights have gone. Once he's alone again, Merlin resumes his quest. He laughs in his head. He never really thought he'd be one to go on a quest but here he is, an adventure to be had and a prize to be won. Although, he muses, he'll never let Arthur hear him refer to the prince as a prize. That would just go to his head and make him even more unbearable than ever.

The door to the court physician's chamber, once found, is dark and foreboding. Merlin glances round several times, not nervous but not entirely calm either, before placing a hand on the ancient wood. He can almost feel the history of Escetia pulsing through the grain of the oak beneath his fingers, seeping into his veins. He can tell the room beyond is empty. If anyone were to ask him how he can be so certain, he knows he wouldn't be able to answer them but he just knows. Maybe it's his magic, maybe he has excellent hearing, maybe it's his inherent ability to tune in to Arthur. Either way, he decides, it doesn't really matter.

He lets his hand drop to the cold metal handle of the door and turns it gently. He's really not surprised when the door refuses to move. Gaius, he recalls, locks his door religiously muttering about thieving scoundrels although Merlin has yet to find one of those capable of making it beyond the citadel walls.

He steps back slightly from the door and holds out his arm, palm facing the unrelenting door and channels his magic through his fingertips. It's second nature to him now to commit such simple acts of sorcery and he doesn't even feel the energy flow. But he hears the lock yield and when he turns the handle now, it rotates smoothly, allowing him access to the room beyond.

He's careful to close the door behind him, no need to alert passersby to his presence, and takes a few precious seconds to survey the chambers he now finds himself in. For a moment he can almost believe himself to be back in Camelot, back in the security of Gaius' chambers. But the moment doesn't last long. Drudwyn's quarters are a dark facsimile of Camelot's physician's home. His arsenal of potions and herbs seem somehow out of kilter with the healing aims of a normal physician and Merlin is uneasy at the number of medical instruments adorning the walls that seem to have very little beneficial purpose.

But his attention is quickly taken by the small bed in the far corner. There is a figure huddled under a sparse blanket and Merlin feels his heart stop briefly. He would recognise that figure anywhere, under any covering. He's served Arthur long enough to know his various sleeping positions – from the relaxed, limbs strewn around, position to the taut, I'll sleep only because I have to, position the prince adopts on overnight patrols – and he knows this particular position almost too well. The figure beneath the meagre covering is currently assuming what Merlin has come to reluctantly name the _I've been hurt but I don't want anyone to know about it_ position.

He throws caution to the wind as he hurries across to the bed and drops unceremoniously to his knees. Pulling the blanket back from where it covers Arthur's head almost completely, Merlin has to stifle a gasp. It looks like Drudwyn has certainly been taking care of the prince but Merlin thinks he needs to talk to the physician about his definition of 'care'. Arthur's eyes are closed but beneath his eyelids there is furious activity going on. His hair is damp, matted down by a fevered sweat and his skin is cool and clammy to the touch.

"Arthur," Merlin hisses, torn between the need to wake Arthur and talk to him and the desire to let the prince sleep on and heal himself as much as possible. As Arthur fails to respond to either his voice or touch, Merlin weighs up his options. He lets his hand rest on the prince's forehead, absently stroking his thumb over Arthur's hair, sweeping it back from his face.

Arthur moans quietly and rolls ever so slightly into the touch, his features softening, giving him the appearance of peace. Merlin watches as his eyes flutter open, not missing the bewilderment and panic that flit across his face before the prince's walls are firmly back in place. He jerks his head away from Merlin's hand and pastes what Merlin supposes is meant to be a fearsome glare on his face.

"Merlin?" he croaks and the warlock winces in sympathy.

"It's okay, Arthur," He reassures the prince with a comforting hand on his arm, feeling slightly confused when Arthur grunts and pulls his arm away.

"It's not okay, Merlin," he whispers and if Merlin didn't know him better he'd swear there was a bit of a whimper in there. "It hurts."

Merlin could hit himself in the head. How could he have forgotten the treatment the prince got earlier? Yes, Drudwyn was supposed to take good care of Camelot's heir but Merlin's already decided that hasn't really happened and Arthur's arm, now he looks at it, clearly hasn't received any attention. The burn has cooled a little but the flesh is still red and angry.

"I'm sorry," Merlin replies. "I didn't think," and he gently pulls the offending limb to him. As he studies the wound he takes time to wonder why Arthur hasn't flung one of his customary retorts at his manservant. He's expecting a simple insult or more structured abuse but the easy compliance with which Arthur allows him to tend to him is worrying.

"Arthur?" he asks quietly while gently peeling the ruined fabric from ruined flesh as best he can. "How do you feel?"

Arthur seems puzzled by the question and knits his eyebrows together in gesture that Merlin would normally find endearing. "I feel…" he starts and then closes his eyes in concentration. "I feel…" he starts again. Then his eyes fly open and he fixes them on Merlin's face. "I don't know," he stutters. "I don't know how I feel! Why don't I know?"

Merlin stops his ministrations and looks to Arthur in alarm. This can't be good. There's no way a knight as highly trained as Arthur can lose his ability to feel like this.

"What d'you mean?" he enquires cautiously, suddenly aware of how frightened the prince looks.

Arthur looks around him frantically. "I don't know, Merlin!" he exclaims. "What are we doing here? And where _is_ here?"

Merlin drops back on his heels and takes a deep breath.

"What do you remember, Arthur?" he asks, scared of the answer.


	11. Chapter 11

"What do you remember, Arthur?" he asks, scared of the answer.

Arthur frowns and tilts his head to one side. He eyes Merlin cautiously out of the corner of his eye. "A fight?" he suggests uncertainly. "You. Me. A forest." He stops and turns his full attention back to his servant. "We lost," he states. "I remember that bit. But after that…" and he trails off, apparently lost in thought.

Merlin picks up the prince's arm again, determined not to let Arthur read his face. He's in a quandary now. He had intended to come here, find Arthur, reassure the prince of his everlasting loyalty in the face of adversity and be on his way. But now? Now he can't possibly leave Camelot's heir to the mercies of Drudwyn's 'care'.

He bites his lower lip as he tends to the burn on Arthur's arm, trying desperately not to cause any more pain than exists already but even so Arthur hisses and closes his eyes. Merlin wonders if he'd notice a little magical healing but just as he's about to try it, Arthur's eyes snap open again and he bolts upright.

"We're in Escetia!" he exclaims, a horrified look on his face. "Merlin! We're in Escetia!"

"Um, yes," Merlin agrees, wondering how long he's got till they're interrupted.

"We need to get out of here," the prince continues, seemingly oblivious to his current situation. "Fetch Leon and Gwaine," he orders and Merlin's heart sinks. Just when he thought Arthur was coming to his senses the veil of confusion has fallen again and they're back where they started. Almost.

"They're not here, Arthur," Merlin informs the prince gently.

"Not here? Where are they then?"

"We were ambushed, Arthur. We were out hunting, just the two of us"

Arthur snorts and it's the closest to himself Merlin has heard him since he found him. "Well," he puffs, "that would explain why we lost. Still, they must be on their way by now." He pauses for a moment before continuing. "How long have we been here?"

Merlin's not sure how to answer that one. The truth might just push Arthur over the edge of sensibility he's hovering on but a fabrication may well come back and bite him on the backside in the future. Arthur doesn't like being lied to, whatever the circumstances and he can hold a grudge with the best of them.

But Merlin's saved from his dilemma by a commotion in the corridor outside the door.

"Doesn't matter," he tells the prince. "We have to go. Now. Can you walk?"

He's relieved to see the almost sneer cross Arthur's face. "Of course I can walk, Merlin. I'm not a baby," and he swings his legs over to the side and starts to rise. He almost makes it. Merlin's inwardly impressed by the determination and effort Arthur puts into it before swaying dangerously from side to side, culminating in a full slide to the ground.

Merlin sighs benevolently and offers the prince his hand. Arthur glares at it as if Merlin has just committed the most heinous crime imaginable and tries to raise himself off the floor alone. And fails. Again.

"Stop being so pig-headed," Merlin sighs and grabs his elbows, pulling the prince upright and wrapping Arthur's arm round his shoulders for support. "We need to get out here," he reiterates. "We haven't got time for any of your stupid heroics."

"They're not stupid," Arthur mutters, sounding to Merlin all the world like a petulant toddler. But he accepts Merlin's help anyway this time.

Somehow, and Merlin's not entirely sure how, the warlock manages to manoeuvre them to the door. If someone were to see them now, he muses, they couldn't be blamed for thinking there was a new, bizarre dance craze sweeping the kingdom. Arthur's weight rests comfortably by his side and he wonders when this became an accepted routine for them. He risks a look up at the prince and isn't really surprised to see his eyes have drifted shut again.

He nudges Arthur gently and when he has his attention again the warlock waves vaguely at the door with his free hand.

"We need to go out there," he informs Arthur.

"Well, let's go then," Arthur replies, struggling to free himself from Merlin's grip and reaching for the door handle.

"No," Merlin tells him, pulling the prince's hand away from the door. "There are too many people out there. We need to be careful."

"Merlin, it's the middle of the night. I think. Who in their right mind would be wandering around at this time?"

Merlin shuffles his feet and looks down. "I'm not really supposed to be here," he admits quietly. "I think they might have realised I'm not where I should be."

He waits for Arthur's reply, steeling himself for the rebuke he knows is coming. Except it doesn't.

Arthur just laughs softly and leans a little more heavily into Merlin. "When are you _ever_ where you're meant to be?"

Merlin nods, a wry acknowledgement of the truth in the prince's words and props Arthur against the wall. He wonders what he should do next. This is where Arthur normally takes charge, allows the knight in him to take centre stage. But looking at the prince now, Merlin can only see slight vestiges of the knight within and it's a disconcerting feeling to realise the only person capable of leadership right now is him.

He takes a deep breath and bites his lower lip. "Right," he says, determination that he doesn't feel lacing his words, "this is what we'll do. You stay here while I check the hallways and I'll come back for you. Okay?"

He already has his hand on the door handle, half turned away from Arthur when the prince lays his own hand over Merlin's.

"You're a manservant," he mutters. "You should wait here. I'll go first."

Merlin isn't surprised at the display of, admittedly misplaced, honour. Arthur's hand is shaking ever so slightly and the warlock isn't convinced he could actually open the door unaided, let alone walk through it.

There is, Merlin decides, a time for negotiation and a time for action. This, he concludes, is a time for action.

"No," he objects, forcibly removing Arthur's restraining hand and placing it gently by the prince's side. "We haven't got time," and he turns his back on his companion. He listens for a second or two then turns the handle slowly, easing the door open.

For a moment he wonders if he should worry about Arthur's acquiescence but then, hearing a disturbance from further down the hall all thoughts of subservience flee his head and his focus becomes solely how to get the prince of Camelot out of this particular sticky situation.

He slides out of the physician's chamber, holding a warning arm out to Arthur, hoping the knight in him, at least, will follow orders and stay put. For one brief, heart-warming second he thinks Arthur is going to play along. But the best laid plans always go astray and he can feel the instant the prince decides he needs to be in command.

He's too late to stop Arthur bursting into passage next to him, sword held tightly in his hand, wavering from side to side dangerously. Merlin wonders where he managed to find the weapon and it only takes a glance for the warlock to know it's not Arthur's. When he has the luxury of time, he thinks, he'll replay their interactions in the physician's chambers to see if he can work out how Arthur managed to procure a sword.

Not now though.

For now he has more pressing matters to hand. Like trying to put a stop to the foolhardy flight of Camelot's heir as he realises he now has a rear view of the prince when really he would much prefer to have him safely tucked behind him.

It's too late for wishes now though and as Merlin follows the blond head down the corridor, he marvels at the steadiness of the man in front. The sure-footedness of his progress. The steely determination in his step. The increasingly secure grip he has on the sword.

For a minute, one glorious minute, Merlin can fool himself into believing that Arthur – his Arthur – is back and in command.

But then the prince reaches the turn of the passageway and all hell breaks loose.


	12. Chapter 12

Time slows down and Merlin swears he can count the particles of dust swirling about Arthur's heels as the Prince disappears round the corner. He can hear what sounds like a thousand footsteps crashing down the passageway to the physician's rooms. In the capsule Merlin finds himself in, he can almost hear the Prince's heartbeat, solid and steady – more steady than it truly has the right to be after the ordeal Arthur's been through.

He still doesn't know how it happens, or when it started, but the warlock can sense Arthur's movements without needing to see him. He knows that the Prince has slowed down but the sword is still held firm in his hand.

But the time for reflection is not now. Arthur has vanished from view and the sounds of battle are echoing through the halls. The clash of steel upon steel is mingling with the cries of the warriors Merlin has no doubt are forcing their way to their location.

He's already at the return of the corridor before he realises there are too many battle cries, too many footsteps and too many voices, all vying for position at the top of the vocal concert playing out just out of his view. And that's when he realises there really is a battle going on and if he concentrates really hard he can make out words, shouted incoherently but somehow understandable to the warlock.

"Sire!"

"My lord!"

"Arthur!"

As Merlin skids round the corner the sight that greets him is almost expected. He and Arthur are no longer alone.

The Knights of Camelot are here.

They're here and they're angry. Arthur was right in one respect Merlin realises. Uther hasn't sent an army of thousands. He's sent, if this is his doing, an elite group of Camelot's finest. Arthur's finest. In the melee before him Merlin can clearly make out the curls that gild Sir Leon's head, Sir Gwaine's stubble adorned jaw line, the impressive stature of Sir Percival and in the shadows, the understated yet ever strong presence of Sir Elyan.

Merlin hides a smile as the forces of Escetia struggle with a blend of incompetence and arrogance. They flail and wave their swords as though they're birds who haven't realised their wings are clipped. It's almost as if they can't believe they're being bested by such a small contingency and that, Merlin knows, will be their downfall.

But he can hear reinforcements thundering through the castle and his attention is focussed once more on Arthur. The Prince is showing a remarkable tenacity and his grip on the sword is firm, determined. Merlin doubts any of their friends have any idea of the real state of Arthur's mind and body at the moment. Camelot's heir is putting on a formidable show of strength and somewhere in the back of his mind Merlin is incredibly proud of the man Arthur is becoming.

Gwaine is moving towards Arthur now, sword held menacingly in front of him and his free hand reaching for the Prince. Merlin wonders what the knight can see that he can't. Arthur has his back to the warlock but he can make out the expression on Gwaine's face and it's not a reassuring one. Different scenarios are racing through Merlin's mind, each one worse than the one before. He accepts that maybe Arthur's façade is crumbling, maybe the display of courage and strength is waning.

There is little time for any of them to think. Elyan and Percy are fighting with a grace and agility that Merlin has become accustomed to and he thinks he can safely leave them to their own devices. He'll keep an eye on them but his priority, his calling, is Arthur.

Gwaine has reached the Prince and his hand is on his arm. Merlin watches, fascinated, as Arthur turns his head toward his loyal friends. It's almost as though he hadn't realised they were there, Merlin muses. The way his head jerks round, the instant his body relaxes ever so slightly, surprise and relief flooding his face for all to see. Merlin can see Gwaine's lips moving, his head motioning to the other knights, concern flitting across his brow so briefly Merlin doubts anyone else has seen it.

The sound of Escetia's reinforcements crescendos through the corridors and Merlin can't help himself. He breaks cover, running as fast as he can towards the Camelot posse.

"Arthur!" he shouts, heedless of the massing forces of their opponents. "Gwaine! They're coming!"

Belatedly it dawns on him that he's just given away his own position. Yes, the knights knew he was there – where Arthur is, Merlin is. It's a bit of a joke at Camelot. Good natured and gentle, but a joke nevertheless. But Cenred's army? They probably thought that the Prince's humble manservant was still ensconced in his ivory tower. Any minute now, Merlin muses, the King will discover how he's been played by the warlock. And he really can't bring himself to care.

Arthur's head spins round in his direction in almost perfect unison with Gwaine's. Sir Leon appears by his side as if by magic, which makes Merlin smile.

"You took your time," the magician remarks wryly to the knights, dodging a flying piece of masonry with effortless ease. "Shall we get out of here now?"

Leon smiles back at Merlin and nods his head, wielding his sword above his head, deflecting more chips of the castle's fabric which are flying around now with free abandon. "I couldn't have put it better myself," he agrees.

"This way." Elyan's voice cuts through the noise of battle and, as one, the knights of Camelot turn to see what he's spotted. All except one.

Arthur's gaze is fixed firmly on his manservant as though he's never seen him before. He steps hesitantly forward, shaking Gwaine's hand off his arm as he moves.

"What are you doing here?" he hisses at Merlin who takes an involuntary step backwards, propelled by the venom in his Prince's voice.

"What?" Merlin doesn't know where this new tone of voice has come from, or the surge of strength that seems to be sweeping through Arthur. He racks his brain to see if he can find an answer or even a suggestion as to where this attitude leeching from the Prince has sprung from.

"_You. Betrayed. Me._" Arthur steps forward again and all the pieces fall into place. Ignoring the startled looks from the surrounding knights, Merlin dips his head in a show of deference to his Lord.

"I didn't," he offers, "and this isn't the time or place to have this discussion."

"He's right," Leon interjects, grabbing Merlin's arm and pulling him in Elyan's direction. "Whatever this is, it can wait."

"Nevertheless," Arthur remains firm, "you betrayed me, Merlin."

"Arthur," Gwaine hisses. "There's no time for this. Cenred's coming."

Arthur's eyes never leave Merlin's face and Merlin feels himself colouring beneath the stare. He knows what's happened. His apparent switch of allegiance has somehow made itself known to Arthur and the Prince's faith in him has been shattered into a thousand pieces.

"It's not like that," Merlin whispers, but Arthur has already turned from him and is striding to the corridor that Elyan has indicated is clear. He watches Arthur's receding figure, oblivious to Leon pulling him after the knights. He feels numb, cut to the quick even though he always knew this was a risk he had to take.

He lets Leon lead him down the passageway Elyan has found, ears alert, eyes peeled, mind dulled by Arthur's new found hatred for him. His feet move as though by themselves and just as they round a corner, he feels more than sees the first arrow fly over his shoulder, embedding itself in the wall ahead of him.

There are more cries from Escetia's army, cries that are more than matched by the knights of Camelot as they turn, as one, and face their enemy once again.

"Tell me there are more of you outside," Merlin murmurs to Leon as he's pushed aside by the warrior.

"Sorry, Merlin," Leon grimaces. "We're it. Uther wouldn't…" and he trails off leaving Merlin to complete that conversation by himself.

"Ah well," the warlock concedes, "it was just a thought.

Leon throws a comradely grin at the manservant as he hefts his sword and flies back into battle but Merlin can see the uncertainty behind the camaraderie and the reservation behind his words. With three little words Arthur has sown the seed of doubt in the minds of all the knights of Camelot.

Shaking these thoughts from his mind the warlock finds himself an alcove to conceal himself in, one where he can see Camelot's finest but also where he can see what Escetia intends to throw at them. He casts a glance at Arthur but other than a certain pallor in his face and a slight redness round his eyes, the Prince looks to be at his fittest. Merlin knows for a fact this isn't so, but if he can fool Gwaine and Leon, he can certainly fool Cenred.

Who, at this very moment, just so happens to be charging round the corner with the look of one possessed.


End file.
